e just crying for joy, and asked him if that wasn't a silly thing to
do.

Grace embraced everybody twice over; but Horace was a little shy, and
would only give what his aunties called "canary kisses."

"Margaret, I want you to give me that darling baby this minute," said
Mrs. Parlin, wiping her eyes. "Now you can bring the butter out of the
cellar: it's all there is to be done, except to set the tea on the
table."

Then grandma Parlin had another cry over little Katie: not such a
strange thing, for she could not help thinking of Harry, the baby with
sad eyes and pale face, who had been sick there all the summer before,
and was now an angel. As little Prudy had said, "God took him up to
heaven, but the tired part of him is in the garden."

Yes, under a weeping-willow. Everybody was thinking just now of tired
little Harry, "the sweetest flower that ever was planted in that
garden."

"Why, Maria," said Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak, "how did
you ever travel so far with this little, little baby?"

"I don't know, mother," replied Mrs. Clifford; "I think I could never
have got here without Grace: she has been my little waiter, and Katie's
little nurse."

Grace blushed with delight at this well-deserved praise.

"And Horace is so large now, that he was some help, too, I've no doubt,"
said his grandmother.

"I would have took the baby," cried Horace, speaking up very quickly,
before any one else had time to answer,--"I would have took the baby,
but she wouldn't let me."

Mrs. Clifford might have said that Horace himself had been as much
trouble as the baby; but she was too kind to wound her little boy's
feelings.

It was certainly a very happy party who met around the tea-table at Mr.
Parlin's that evening. It was already dusk, and the large globe lamp,
with its white porcelain shade, gave a cheery glow to the pleasant
dining-room.

First, there was cream-toast, made of the whitest bread, and the
sweetest cream.

"This makes me think of Mrs. Gray," said Mrs. Clifford, smiling; "I hope
she is living yet."

"She is," said Margaret, "but twelve years old."

Grace looked up in surprise.

"Why, that's only a little girl, aunt Madge!"

"My dear, it's only a cow!"

"O, now I remember; the little blue one, with brass knobs on her horns!"

"Let's see; do you remember Dr. Quack and his wife?"

"O, yes'm! they were white ducks; and how they did swim! It was a year
ago. I suppose Horace doesn't remem